


keep your head up high, be brave, my lover (in the darkness i'll keep you warm)

by arrowsanonymous



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: A request, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, but it's more fluff than whump, i have no idea why i wrote this its technically for the bad things happen bingo, i just wont include it in the bingo ig, title is from perfect storm by IBE he's an awesome artist check him out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsanonymous/pseuds/arrowsanonymous
Summary: lityerses gets sick, and what kind of healer would apollo be if he doesn't take care of lit?
Relationships: Apollo/Lityerses (Percy Jackson)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	keep your head up high, be brave, my lover (in the darkness i'll keep you warm)

“Lit?” Apollo asks, head tilted slightly. He’s picked up a new hobby called “staring at Lityerses and getting lost in his beautiful eyes”, and by far, it’s been extremely entertaining. The map that is his features seems to lure Apollo in and lead him astray instead of leading him somewhere, and he’s not complaining. Today, though, his obsidian-like pupils lack their glimmer and liveliness, looking very dull indeed. “Are you okay?”  
  
Lityerses looks up from chopping carrots, frowning slightly.  _ Definitely dull.  _ Nothing else seems to be wrong, though. “I’m fine,” he says in his low, smooth voice. “Why do you ask?”

Shrugging, Apollo picks off a piece of carrot from Lit’s hair. “Nothing, you just look… off.” He notices the slight eye bags under those eyes, too, and the mildly unhealthy pale look of his skin. “Are you sick?”

The carrots were starting to dry out, so Lityerses goes back to chopping them as quickly as possible. “Just a mild headache. I’m alright.”

Apollo, not convinced, reaches out to touch his forehead, intending to check his temperature. As a reaction to this sudden movement, Lityerses flinches and recoils, as if the motion is about to inflict bodily harm on him. Immediately, Apollo pulls back his hand.

Guilt swirls in his stomach as Lityerses takes a deep breath and redirects his full attention back to root vegetables. As silently as he can, Apollo walks out of the kitchen, letting his feet guide him, wandering around aimlessly. He had forgotten Lityerses’ aversion towards having his forehead touched, being used to physically checking temperatures that way.  _ It’s how he was turned into gold multiple times. _

_ The heat radiating off of him…  _ he thinks, mulling over the possibilities, trying to distract himself from the regret.  _ Maybe a fever.  _ Apollo continues listing all ailments or illnesses that Lit could experience in his head. He lets his feet lead him, and he stops in the middle of his tracks as a door appears in front of him.  _ The medbay.  _ He lets himself take in the cutting-edge equipment and shelves full of medicine, then turns around.

He wanders. Time seems non-existent when Apollo lets himself drown in the sea of thoughts that is his mind. Mortality brings more important, terrifying problems that he thought it would.

Apollo sighs as he looks up and finds himself in front of the medbay again. It seems like the Waystation knows exactly what state his mind is in, constantly steering him here. He rubs his eyes, tired, and turns around to start his trek back to the kitchen and apologize.  _ It’s been long enough, right? _

When he enters the kitchen, a sudden sense of dread washes over him.

Then he spots Lityerses, slumped on the kitchen table, holding a carrot peeler in one hand and a carrot on the other. His body seems to be shaking and shivering, rising up and down in heavy, shuddering breaths. Apollo immediately rushes over, taking in the clammy look of his skin.

“Lit? Lityerses, are you okay?” Apollo asks, careful not to touch his forehead this time, though he doesn’t need to. Heat practically  _ pours  _ out of Lit, the way it does when someone has a high fever, the visible part of his face an unhealthy red even with all the scars marring his face. Lityerses seems semi-lucid, his dark eyes semi-visible through his rapidly fluttering lashes.

His lips move, sounding out something barely audible. Apollo can’t quite make out the words, though he did catch something along the lines of “ _ it’s cold, cold _ ” out of the sentence he’d murmured.

“Right, um, Lit, I’m getting you to the infirmary.” Despite the fact that Lityerses is bigger and generally stronger than Apollo, he manages to pull him up and support Lit as the two of them walk outside of the kitchen and towards medical help. The Waystation seems to understand what they need, and the limits of Apollo’s physical abilities, because the medbay pops up right outside the kitchen. Though Apollo can feel it saying,  _ This is what happens when you ignore my advice. _

Apollo lowers his shoulders to avoid knocking Lit’s head on the top of the door, and then he immediately sets him down on a bed. Despite the short distance between the kitchen and the medbay, his legs shake with the strain of walking. He ignores this after a short break to catch his breath, and moves towards Lit. Immediately, the problem seems to be clear. Even though Apollo could  _ feel  _ Lityerses’ abnormally high temperature, he’s shaking and shivering like it’s winter.

He walks closer, grabbing a blanket, then covers Lit’s curled-up figure gently. “Have you eaten?” Apollo asks quietly. Lit’s cheeks looks red as tomatoes, his delicate lips parted, his eyes only half-open. This way, Apollo could almost believe that he’d just come down from a high.

Lit takes a shaky breath. “N-no,” he mumbles, his weak voice breaking Apollo’s heart to pieces. He couldn’t bear to see another person he loves weak and vulnerable and in pain, and he couldn’t bear to leave him. But he has to, so he settles a glass of water with an extraordinarily long straw beside one of the medbay beds.

“Okay. I’m getting you something to eat. It won’t take too long.” 

In what feels like seconds and yet hours, Apollo walks back into the infirmary with an omelette. The panic of Lit being hurt and the wait for the egg to cook and stop being runny makes the cooking process confusing and anxiety inducing. Half of the water in the glass has disappeared, and the shivering seems to have toned down. Though Apollo still worries immensely for Lityerses, this grants him a little relief.

He grabs a bottle of paracetamol pills and shakes out two, the recommended dose by the bottle, then places it beside the omelette before walking closer. Apollo places the plate carefully on the bedside table, then falls into the nearest chair. He hadn’t noticed how much his own limbs are shaking. “Can you sit up?” Apollo asks.

Underneath the blanket, Lit’s skin seems even paler. “Never mind, you can’t,” he decides, and Apollo pulls his chair closer to the bed. Slowly, spoon by spoon, Apollo feeds Lit his omelette. This feels like an ancient ritual, long forgotten, sacred and precious. He can see himself kneeling in front of Lit like a worshipper, a believer, putting all his faith in another for once, and he’ll trace every curve and divot of his legs and go  _ up, up, up  _ the way his lovers would for him.

Thoughts of the tanned complexion of Lityerses’ torso and his perfectly shaped limbs vanishes as Apollo remembers what he’s here for and what predicament Lit is in. The plate is empty, only the pills and oils remain, and Lit’s eyelashes fan out on his cheeks like scattered bronze threads. Apollo takes a deep breath to clear his mind. “Lit… you can swallow pills, right?” he asks, eager to take his mind off the dark path it always strays down to and focus on Lit’s pain.

“Sure,” Lityerses mutters, lips barely moving, and Apollo helps him lift his head, and the pills are gone without too much fuss. The pills’ side effect is sleepiness, Apollo knows—and he’s not surprised when Lit pulls his blanket up and is sleeping in no time.

He gazes down at Lit’s peaceful face despite his slight shivering. With his eyes closed and his features relaxed, the scars doesn’t look as monstrous as people say. Apollo leans down and kisses his cheek, then lifts the plate and walks back to the kitchen. There’s still work to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> yo i dont fucking know what this is man


End file.
